


The Boy Next Door

by puss_nd_boots



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puss_nd_boots/pseuds/puss_nd_boots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kai is a culinary student who has just moved into a dumpy apartment building – although there is nothing at all dumpy about Uruha, the beautiful model who lives next door. And there just happens to be a conveniently placed keyhole in his apartment allowing Kai to watch him . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy Next Door

**Author's Note:**

> Male/male sex, voyeurism, masturbation, language.
> 
> Written for the Summer Fic Challenge on Livejournal's uruai community. My prompt was as follows: “Your story will be an AU where we have all the other Gazette boys living each in their tiny place of this social living unit. You get to choose who lives where and how can this influence your story plot. You get to choose the relations between all of them and their jobs/status. You get to choose how Kai meets Uruha. Or are they already together?”

Kai moved in on the 2nd of April, when the ground outside the rather dumpy looking little housing unit was littered with sakura petals. It at least made the place look a bit less like, well, a prison, what with those industrial-looking doors and slats on the windows.

“You’re lucky,” said the landlord – his name was Aoi, Kai remembered – as he unlocked the door. “You’re getting one of the good units.”

“What do you mean, good?” Kai said, peering in. It was . . . small. Well, he’d be able to move around in here – almost. He could fit a futon in there, and a desk, and a TV, and. . . well, not much else. At least there was a small kitchen – that was vital.

“Used to be part of a bigger apartment, back before this place was renovated,” Aoi said. “The unit next door used to be the other half.” He handed the keys to Kai. “So, what brought you to this place, anyway?” As in, what’s a nice guy like you doing in a neighborhood like this?

“Culinary school,” Kai said. “I’ve got a few months to go. My old housing unit, well . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It kind of had a fire.”

“A fire?” Aoi looked a bit too amused. “You didn’t start it, did you?”

“Not me,” he said. “One of the other cooking students. He was trying to use a propane grill in his room – he had one of the units without its own kitchen – and it didn’t end well.” He looked over at the small fridge, dinky stove/oven and little scrap of counter. “Which is one reason I wanted to make sure my new place had a . . .”

His eyes were drawn across the room, to what looked like a floor-to-ceiling box jammed into the corner, jutting out and painted the same color as the walls around it – almost.

“What’s that?” he said.

“That?” Aoi said. “Oh, that’s the closet. We kind of had to build outward to put it in – like I said, we split an apartment in two to make this unit. This was the living room and kitchen, that was the bedroom, and there was a door in between. We built the closet over the door.”

Kai frowned. It seemed like a slipshod way to do things, kind of like a kid playing with Legos. Slap it all together, if it fit, good. Who cared if it looked like crap? Whatever, it was still somewhere to live.

“If you need anything, I’m right downstairs,” Aoi said. “Just give me a yell. Well, not really. Don’t want the neighbors thinking anything’s wrong.” He gave Kai a wave and left.

Kai looked around with a sigh, eyes alighting on the odd, jerry-built closet. He was just here long enough to finish his certification, right? Then he could go to one of the big hotels in Tokyo, or Osaka, or a resort in Okinawa, and live in a real apartment. With a real closet.

There was a better life waiting for him. He knew it.

* * *

By the end of the first day, he’d met a couple of his neighbors. Ruki had the apartment two doors down from him - he was an artist who was working on his masterpieces by night, slaving away in a graphics shop during the day.

Reita, who lived next to Aoi, worked in a motorcycle customization shop, and dreamed of creating custom bikes for movie production companies. He proudly showed Kai a sketchbook of bikes that looked like Batman and James Bond had a mechanical baby by way of an ‘80s punk rock band.

Everybody here was looking for a better life than this place offered. They might as well call this complex the Boulevard of Broken Dreams. Well, not quite broken . . . just kind of spinning around in circles.

There was no sign of his immediate neighbor yet, the one in the apartment right next to his. “Oh, him,” Ruki said. “He’s a model. He comes in at all kinds of weird hours. We barely see him.”

“Really?” Kai said, tilting his head in curiosity. “If he’s a model, what’s he doing in a place like this?”

“He’s still waiting for his big break, apparently,” Ruki said. “That business is all about who you’re willing to fuck. Guess he didn’t meet up with the right person yet.”

“I guess I’ll see him eventually,” Kai said. If they were neighbors, it was inevitable, right?

* * *

He caught sight of the silly closet’s very special feature for the first time that night when he was unpacking a box of shoes, lining them up on the floor like soldiers at attention. He caught a glimpse of light above him, like someone shining a tiny flashlight.

Well, that was strange. He didn’t think the closet had a light in it. Though given how nonsensical the whole thing was, he wouldn’t be surprised to see a traditional lantern embedded in the wall.

Pulling himself up until he was sitting on his knees, he could see another door in front of him. Unlike the ugly steel door that led outside, and the nondescript one on the front of this closet, this one seemed . . . elegant. Western in style, made of dark wood, with a real brass doorknob – and a keyhole. A true keyhole, which went straight through, offering a view of what was on the other side.

Curious, he leaned over so he could glimpse what was in the next apartment. Keyhole-peeping. He felt, for a moment, like your stereotypical dirty old man.

He saw a rather simply furnished apartment. A couch which had the controller for a video game console sitting on it., a table with a kotatsu underneath. . .

And a front door which was opening so that the most stunning creature Kai had ever seen in his life could enter the room. He was letting out a long breath, running his hand along blond hair, pulling off his jacket to hang it in an actual closet, unlike the box Kai was kneeling in.

Oh, and by the way, Kai was not breathing at the moment. Because it was impossible to function normally while watching his-neighbor-the-model glide across the room as gracefully as a figure skater crossing the ice – until he caught his foot on the corner of the couch and fell to the cushions like a ton of bricks. Kai stifled a laugh behind his hand.

It was charming, really. It was a reminder that this creature was human, not an ancient god fallen to earth.

After a bit of grumbling and cursing, the model sat up, pulled out his phone, and began checking messages.

And Kai watched him, as rapt as if he were witnessing the most thrilling drama in the world. He couldn't look away if his life depended on it. The whole building could be falling down around his ears, he wouldn’t budge.

The model put his phone on the table and stretched, causing his T-shirt to mold itself even more to his torso. Oh, yes, he made the T-shirt and jeans he was wearing look as glamorous as the highest of high fashion. Hell, you could drape him in a burlap bag and it would look like an elaborately embroidered kimono. The beauty reached for his remote, clicked the buttons, yawned again.

And then, it occurred to Kai precisely what he was doing. He was spying on his beautiful neighbor through the keyhole. It was something out of a bad comedy movie. Some random person was going to come walking in here and hit him in the face with a pie next.

He blinked and stood up. This was ridiculous. He was going to get out of here, now, and close the door, and go back to unpacking, and hope he didn’t fall over his own furniture in this tiny space.

But he found himself glancing over his shoulder, and leaning over, trying to get one last glimpse. An addiction had been born.

* * *

It became a post-class ritual for him. He’d do his homework, cooking in the barely-a-kitchen, experimenting here and there, eating the results for dinner. He’d strain his ears, listening for any sounds from the apartment next door.

If there was nothing, he’d go on the Internet or play a game, getting up every couple of minutes to press his ear to the wall. When he heard movement, he’d open the closet door, crawling inside, peeking through the little hole.

He learned more about the beauty than a detective knew about his suspects. His name was Uruha. He favored first-person shooters and red wine. He’d rather watch anime than game shows. He painted his own nails black when a shoot called for it – Kai figured he got a lot of work for Gothic aristocrat and visual kei clothing lines.

He just knelt there in the closet, an acolyte beholding his god, an addict getting his nightly fix. He wasn’t questioning it anymore, or feeling guilty, or expecting to be hit with a pie.

As long as he could look at him, someone could hit him in the face with a brick, and it would be just fine.

* * *

“You could always talk to him, you know.”

Kai and Ruki were in Ruki’s apartment, sitting at his table, drinking tea. Around them were Ruki’s masterworks, pieces of surreal art featuring things like staircases to nowhere, pyramids with eyes, an electric chair in the corner of a desolate room. It was a bit like being in the middle of a horror film – without the dripping blood.

“I know, but . . . I haven’t had a reason to,” Kai said, lifting his cup and staring into it. His own face stared back at him, wobbling and distorting in the liquid. Welcome to the funhouse.

“Well, make up a reason!” Ruki pointed at Kai with his lit cigarette, making it look like a tiny lightsaber. “You’re a chef, ask him if you could borrow a cup of something.”

“Doesn’t that look really obvious?” Kai said. “I mean, I don’t want him to . . .”

“Don’t want him to know you like him?” Ruki said. “Well, that’s kind of fucking stupid, isn’t it? How are you going to get anywhere otherwise?”

“I’ll figure it out somehow,” Kai said. He took a long sip. The tea was sweet and warming and comforting, and it wasn’t helping him all in this situation, was it? Offering tea like this to Uruha would do no good, he wasn’t much of a tea-drinker. Good Lord, he could almost write a biography of him at this point. All About Uruha, by the Hentai Keyhole-Peeper.

Ruki shook his head. “Don’t come crying to me if it’s six months from now and you still haven’t gotten to know him.”

He wanted to say he probably knew him better than his own mother, but he didn’t. He’d left out the little keyhole detail when he told Ruki he liked Uruha.

* * *

Kai finally met Uruha face to face on the 15th of May. It was a fortunate coincidence, as he was coming in from school late, and Uruha was coming home from work early. Kai opened the front door to see the most glorious ass he’d ever beheld in his life pointed right at him, like the most lethal of weapons – and, oh, what a way to go.

“Oh, hi,” the glorious ass said, and for a moment, Kai thought he was witnessing a miracle – a talking body part. Well, if Uruha’s ass could talk, it would probably spout world-class poetry. Of course, the moment came to an end when he saw an equally beautiful face peeking around the gorgeous ass, and he realized Uruha was bent over, taking off his shoes, and just happened to notice him.

“Um, hi,” Kai said, rubbing the side of his head. Articulate, wasn’t he? “You’re . . . my neighbor, I think? Unit 2-B?”

“Oh, yes,” Uruha said, putting the shoes in their appropriate cubbyhole and turning around, the gorgeous ass disappearing, the front of him definitely making up for it. “I’m Uruha.” He bowed, politely. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Sort of,” Kai said, “I’ve been here about a month and a half.”

“Really?” Uruha said. “So you’re responsible for the nice smells in the hall now?”

“Well, I’m a culinary student.” And he wasn’t turning red, was he? Crap, he was. “I have to work on my homework . . .”

“A culinary student?” Uruha looked genuinely impressed. “That’s amazing. I’ve never known anyone who did that before! What’s your homework like?”

“You could come over some night and try it.” Wow, where did that come from? The words had barely formed in Kai’s mind before the fell out of his mouth. Was he now a ventriloquist dummy, and Ruki was hiding somewhere, making him talk?

“I’d love that,” Uruha said. “Just let me know when.”

Kai wanted to say he usually did his cooking before Uruha got home, but he held his tongue that time. Things were going well, thank you, no need to stop them in their tracks. Instead, he said, “I’ll do that.”

“Great,” Uruha said, giving him a smile. “I’ll take you up on . . .” He pulled out his phone. “Whoops, almost forgot. I have to give you my number, right?”

And there went Kai’s heart, flipping back and forth like a gymnast. Hopefully, it wouldn’t flip all the way out and splatter all over Uruha. It would be a hell of a way to end their first meeting.

“Um, sure,” Kai said, pulling out his own phone. “And I can give mine to you, too.” Phone number exchange. Holy hell, it was the first step. What was next? Key exchange? Body fluids exchange?

He watched Uruha punch the numbers into the device, suddenly feeling light and happy. If Ruki could see him now . . .

* * *

“So, you finally met him.”

Well, damn. Ruki did see him. He was going past the two at the time, Kai didn’t even notice.

“He wants to come to my place for dinner,” Kai said.

“That’s progress,” Ruki said. “Make sure you put clean sheets on your bed.”

Kai spluttered. “Ruki!”

“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” Ruki said.

Kai didn’t know how to reply. Uruha was about more than sex, so much more . . . good Lord, was he falling in love? He hadn’t thought about it before. Infatuation, yes. Love? Did you peep at someone through a keyhole when you were in love with them?

* * *

Uruha ended up having dinner at Kai’s for the first time on May 17. He’d happened to text Kai, asking if he could take him up on his offer, and Kai wouldn’t have refused him if the Prime Minister was scheduled to eat there.

He listened as Uruha complained about the photographer he’d worked with that day, who seemed to think models were made of rubber. “I had to tell him that I didn’t bend that way,” he said. “Well, I’m flexible, but not that flexible.”

Kai smiled. “Are all photographers like that?” he said.

“No,” Uruha said. “Well, you’ve got several kinds. You get the slave drivers, and the so-called artists who make you do a pose 20 different ways. And then you get the grabbers – the ones who want to pose you, but they’re really groping you.”

Kai frowned. “It sounds . . . brutal.”

Uruha shook his head. “No. It’s worth it, it really is.”

“Really?” Kai said. “Why?”

“Because I like looking pretty,” Uruha said. “I like having people look at me, at my pictures, and think they’re seeing something beautiful. It’s like being a living work of art.”

Oh, yes, “living work of art” was Uruha to a T. “I’d like to see your pictures,” he said.

“My portfolio’s online,” Uruha said. “I’ll show you after dinner. But meanwhile . . . what about you? Why did you decide you wanted to be a chef?”

“I don’t think it was a decision,” Kai said. “It was something that was always in me, you know? From the time I was a little kid, I’d go into my mom’s kitchen and put combinations of things into pots, to see what they tasted like. I knew I was going to be a chef like I know my own name. Plus . . . there’s nothing in the world like looking at a pile of raw ingredients, a bunch of vegetables and spices, and seeing the possibilities in them.”

He looked up at Uruha and smiled, shyly. “You want to be a living work of art, and I want to create edible art.”

Their eyes met for a moment, and connected. And something passed between them, a current, a tiny bit of understanding.

Uruha held up his glass. “To art,” he said.

“To art,” Kai said, clinking his own glass against it.

He stayed for a little while after the meal that night, going over his portfolio with Kai, asking for a couple of recipes, and then he was gone. Back to his own side of the keyhole.

* * *

Kai didn’t hear from him for a couple of nights after that, and before he knew it, he was in his old, familiar position, on his knees in the closet.

He was coming in later than usual. Late-running shoots? Drinking with other models? Maybe he was seeing someone? The thought of that last one made his stomach sink. Why was he thinking that way? They’d only had one dinner together, it wasn’t like they were committed.

He watched Uruha come in, yawning, and flop down on the couch, moving the remote and game controller out of the way first. He closed his eyes, resting his hands on his stomach . . .

And then, he saw one hand slide upward, under Uruha’s T-shirt, and the other downward, over his pants, sliding the fingers over the crotch. A pause, and the fingers on top moved up further, pausing at a nipple, while the ones on the bottom unsnapped and unzipped his jeans.

Kai felt his whole body suddenly turn to liquid. Oh, my God, was Uruha . . . was he actually watching . . .

Uruha wriggled out of his pants just long enough to free his hardening cock, and he wrapped his fingers around it, starting to stroke, slowly, letting out a soft moan. His eyes were closed, his beautiful face bearing a look of concentrated desire, and Kai felt himself hardening faster than he ever had in his life.

“Ohh, yes,” Uruha moaned to his fantasy lover as his hand sped up, and Kai watched how the fingers moved, where they lingered, how Uruha liked to be touched. He was sensitive right under the head of his cock, it seemed, because every time he stroked there, he let out a moan that made Kai tremble down to the marrow of his bones.

Before Kai knew it, he was unfastening his own pants, wrapping his hand around his own hardness, and stroking quickly, trying to catch up to the man on the other side of the keyhole, stifling his own moans as best he could. Not that Uruha would notice, he was completely into what he was doing, writhing on the couch now, the fingers on his nipple moving faster . . .

Uruha, oh, Uruha, Kai thought, his big hand moving rapidly on hard flesh, imagining it wrapped around the model’s cock instead, Uruha’s hand on him, the two of them gazing into each other’s eyes as they stroked and pleasured and teased, trying to drive one another into blinding white ecstasy.

Uruha’s hips were starting to buck, and his breathing got louder and harder, and his head tossed to and fro, the beautiful blond hair widely mussed now. “Ah, ah, ah . . .” he gasped. “I’m going to . .. going to . . .”

Kai’s fingers were rubbing back and forth over the head of his hardness, pushing himself that last little bit, breathing hard as quietly as he could, struggling to stifle groans, but it was worth it, so worth it . . .

Uruha arched off the couch, gracefully, and let out a cry, his come pouring over his fingers, and the sight of it made Kai thrust into his hand one last time, covering his mouth as he moaned in ecstatic release, his own essence dripping down his fingers and onto the closet floor.

There was a long moment where both men just paused, panting, Uruha’s hand still on his now-softening cock, and Kai longed to capture it, to kiss it, to lick it clean.

Finally, Uruha stood up with a deep sigh, and walked out of Kai’s range of sight, hitching up his pants with the hand that had been on his cock. There was the sound of running water as he rinsed himself off.

Kai fell down on the closet floor, one hand over his forehead, his eyes closed. Oh, my God, did he just do that? Did he just watch Uruha jerk off, and jerk off himself? Oh, yes, he did. Great. His transformation into a keyhole-peeping pervert was complete.

So why did this solo orgasm feel more satisfying than any he’d ever had with a partner in his life?

* * *

Uruha came for dinner a few more times over the next several weeks, when his schedule allowed. They were pleasant affairs, filled with conversation about their everyday lives, classmates who liked to hog the burners and photographers who were blind to the fact that shooting on the beach on a windy day meant getting blasted with stinging sand.

They talked about their neighbors, too. It seemed that Aoi and Reita were both old friends of Uruha’s. “If it wasn’t for them, I think I would have moved out of this place a long time ago. Nobody likes this building, particularly – not even Aoi.”

“So why does he hold onto it?” Kai said.

“He inherited it from his grandmother,” Uruha said. “He said he’s only going to keep running it until his acting career takes off.”

“I didn’t know he was that serious about it,” Kai replied, watching Uruha pick up a stickfull of noodles and meat and bring it to his lips. Even the way he ate was graceful and beautiful, and he knew damn well you couldn’t say that about many people.

“Oh, yes,” Uruha said. “I’ve run into him going to auditions while I’ve been going to shoots. He might be up for a part in a film – small, independent movie, but it’s something.”

So Aoi really did want to be a professional actor. Kai knew he acted in local theater, but he thought that was just a hobby. Strange, how everyone in this building – or at least this part of it – seemed to consider themselves an artist of some sort. Kai, crafting dishes out of collections of seemingly random ingredients; Ruki, with his nightmarish dreamscapes; Reita, building custom bikes that were Hollywood-worthy; Aoi, looking to turn this building over to someone else and get before the cameras himself . . .

And Uruha, the living work of art. On all levels.

At another dinner, Uruha started suggesting wine pairings for all Kai’s dishes, and Kai teased him that he should be a sommelier.

“I’ve thought about it,” he said. “It would be fun, but I’d miss the cameras too much.” He gave Kai a big smile. “We’d make a great team, though!”

And at those words, Kai’s heart melted like butter. He knew Uruha was talking strictly about food and wine, of course. But part of him wanted to believe there was more behind it.

* * *

Uruha continued to come in at different hours, staying out later more often, sometimes coming in swaying a bit on his feet, like he was straight from the bar.

And again, Kai wondered if there was someone else, and that’s who he was thinking of when he put on that lovely show of self-pleasure. But if that were the case . . . why did he never stay out all night? Of course, there was the possibility that his lover was married, or had other obligations . . .

Uruha put on the same lovely show one other time, lying on the couch, touching himself in Kai’s full view, and again, Kai matched him stroke for stroke, the two men coming one right after the other. And afterward, once again, he felt more satisfied than he’d ever been with the touch of another person.

He buried himself in his coursework the rest of the time. The end of classes was fat approaching. He’d have his certification then, be out in the real world. And he’d said that when that happened, he’d leave this place, right?

Well, maybe he’d stay here. Just a little longer. He was settled in, wasn’t he? No rush to uproot himself and move, not when he had a stable roof over his head . . .

Who was he kidding? This wasn’t about the roof. This was about the keyhole.

* * *

A few days before Kai’s graduation, Uruha came in earlier than usual. Kai rushed over to the closet when he heard the faint sounds – thank God he wasn’t doing coursework tonight. He’d already completed his final projects for certification.

Only this time, the model didn’t enter alone. He had someone with him. Kai tensed – was he finally going to see the lover? No, wait, it was just Reita.

“I don’t know,” Uruha said to his friend. “There’s just something about him that’s just . . .” He wandered out of Kai’s sight range, and he heard a bottle being opened, wineglasses clinking onto the counter.

“Just what?” Reita plunked onto the couch, and to Kai, it felt like a violation of sacred space. This was where Uruha checked his messages and played his games and drank his wine and pleasured himself so beautifully . . .

“He’s not like other guys I’ve known.” The sound of wine pouring into glasses and Kai’s heart sinking into his lower bowels. He was right. There was somebody.

“You’re not one to have difficulty with guys,” Reita said, idly pulling out his phone to check messages.

“It’s not really difficulty.” Uruha brought the glasses over, putting one in front of Reita and sitting next to his friend, swirling the liquid around. “It’s that I don’t know how to approach it. He’s not the kind of guy you drag into bed just like that. Everything about him just seems so . . . pure.”

So that confirmed why there were no overnight dates, and the late nights in bars. He was probably romancing this guy after work, but hadn’t made the next step yet.

“Pure?” Reita laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m serious,” Uruha said. “Everything about him seems, well, angelic. Except he’s sexy as hell, and that’s what’s driving me nuts.”

“Well, then, just tell him you want to fuck him. The worst that can happen is he runs away.” Reita took a long swallow of the wine. “Whoa, where did you get this?”

“That little liquor store by the subway stop,” Uruha said. “The owner knows me by now.”

“You pick the best stuff, you know that?” Reita took another drink.

“He said I should be a sommelier,” Uruha said, quietly, looking into his glass.

“The wine shop owner?” Reita paused. “Oh. HIM.”

“Who we were just talking about, remember?” Uruha said.

Kai blinked. Was Uruha talking about . . . no, if Reita noticed his skills in picking wine, too, then it had to be obvious, right? Meaning the guy he was meeting in bars would have noticed as well?

“The thing is,” Uruha said, swirling his glass again, “I don’t think it’s just sex I want from him. I want a hell of a lot more. Every time he cooks me dinner, every time I’m over there . . .” He gestured at the wall with his glass. “I feel like I’m home. More home than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Kai felt dizzy. He had to grip the door in front of him to keep from falling on the floor. Oh, my God, did he just hear what he thought he did?

It was him Uruha wanted. And for more than just sex. That meant when he watched Uruha pleasuring himself, the one he’d been thinking about was . . .

“That’s going to complicate things if that deal with the agent from America comes through, you know,” Reita said, taking another drink.

“I know,” Uruha said. “I’ve been talking with the guy after work – it’s the only time I can. He said the photographers and designers over there would go nuts for me, that I’d be a male supermodel in no time.”

“And that’s everything you’ve ever wanted,” Reita said.

Uruha looked into his glass, swirling it again. “Yeah. He’s going back to New York next week, he wants to know my decision by then.”

Next week. Oh, no. No, he wasn’t hearing this. So close, and yet so far. Uruha was within his grasp, Uruha returned his feelings, and now . . . now his dreams of being the ultimate living work of art might take him away.

Kai wanted to punch the wall, but he knew the two on the other side might hear him. Instead, he just rested his hand on the closet wall, his face on his hand, and let the tears pour, silently.

He hadn’t cried since he was a child. Not even when he had that knife mishap a couple of years ago that threatened his cooking career.

* * *

Kai received his certification on the 20th of July. He walked into his apartment, head held high and the magic piece of parchment in his hand. The title of “chef” was now his, officially. He could go into almost any restaurant, show him this diploma, show them what he could do, and claim a space in their kitchen. If he got into the right place, he could dazzle celebrities and politicians with his cooking. It was all he ever wanted, right?

Right?

He put the parchment on his table and was about to head to his not-quite-a-kitchen when he heard a faint sound on the other side of the wall. Uruha was in early. He quickly took up his post in the closet.

The other man was out of range at first. Then, he walked into view, wearing nothing but a towel. He was planning to take a shower, apparently, since he wasn’t wet yet.

Then, he paused, and gazed toward the wall that led to Kai’s apartment. The towel fell to the floor, and Uruha lay down on the couch. Kai watched as one hand slid up to his chest, the other down below, giving him an unobstructed view this time . . .

It was like torture, seeing Uruha do this, knowing that in a week he might be leaving, going off to America, on the other side of the goddamn world. Knowing that Uruha returned his feelings, but was afraid to tell him, and he couldn’t tell Uruha that he knew, because that would reveal his keyhole peeping . . .

He gripped the doorknob in frustration – and felt it turn a tiny bit.

Kai looked up, surprised. The door worked? Really? Of course, it was probably locked after all this time, but . . .

He turned the knob all the way. It offered resistance, but thank God, very little noise. And then, he paused. It was now or never. If it worked . . .

Kai pushed. The door swung open, creaking like a haunted house, just enough to step through to Uruha’s apartment. He looked at the model on the couch, sitting up, startled, grabbing the towel and covering himself.

“Kai . . .” Uruha said, with a strangled breath.

Kai gave a small smile. “Well, what do you know,” he said. “The door works.”

Now or never. Now or never . . .

He strode forward, and leaned over, pressing his lips to Uruha’s. He felt the other man stiffen in surprise, and then relax, arms wrapping around Kai, pulling him closer, pulling him in.

The floodgates of desire pent up for months suddenly opened, and Kai parted his lips, pushing his tongue toward Uruha, demanding entry into his mouth. When the other man complied, Kai explored eagerly, wanting to feel, taste, experience every bit of Uruha, everything he’d ever thought about, imagined, dreamed about.

He felt hands on his chest, and he pulled back long enough for Uruha to unfasten his shirt, both of them panting like marathoners at the end of the race. The other man leaned over, and Kai felt wet heat on his nipple, leaning back and moaning as teeth lightly scraped him before a tongue stroked him tenderly.

“So damn gorgeous,” Uruha murmured, his hands moving over Kai’s chest and belly, tracing lines of firm muscle. “Even more than I thought you’d be.”

He unfastened Kai’s belt, and his zipper, and Kai held his breath as he felt all the clothing on his lower body yanked down around his knees. What would Uruha think when he saw him in full naked glory . . .

The model knelt on the floor to slip off Kai’s pants and underwear, then looked up . . . and his eyes grew wide as saucers.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, Kai.” He reached up, fingers starting to lightly trace the large erection in front of him.

Kai blushed a little. “Too much?” He knew from hard personal experience that, contrary to popular belief, not all straight women and gay/bi men were into big cocks. His last boyfriend had refused to be penetrated by Kai, saying that he looked like it would flat-out do damage.

“Oh, God, no.” Uruha stroked it, gently. “It’s perfect.” He leaned over and kissed it with reverence, nuzzling his cheek against it, kissing it again, like an acolyte in an ancient cult worshipping a golden phallus.

Kai closed his eyes and basked in it, not only the physical sensation of Uruha’s lips pressing on him, his skin rubbing against the hard flesh, but also the appreciation, the feeling of being loved as he was.

“Beautiful,” Uruha sighed, drawing his tongue from bottom to top, as Kai leaned back shuddering. “Come over to my bed, I want this in me, I want it in me so bad . . .”

Uruha stood up, and he took Kai by the hand, and they leaned over, kissing softly, then laughing. And he let himself be guided across the room, to a place the range of the keyhole never allowed him to see before, the bed against the far wall. It was rather plain, covered by a simple red, quilted comforter, a few pillows scattered at the head.

No matter. Right now, it felt like the gates of paradise.

The two men tumbled down together, kissing, and Kai moved down over Uruha’s body, running his hands and tongue over skin he’d only dreamed about until now, breathing in his scent. His fingers encountered a nipple, and he rubbed it the way he’d watched Uruha rub himself, the other man leaning back and moaning.

“Kai . . . Kai . . .” On Uruha’s lips, his own name sounded like a mantra, a love poem. He leaned over, sucking on the nipple his fingers had just been on, feeling Uruha arch against him, hearing the luscious moan.

And then, the model was rolling over, getting on all fours, presenting him with that perfect ass that was the first thing he beheld when he met Uruha in person – only now, it was naked, and offered up to him.

“In the drawer,” he said, breathlessly.

It took Kai a second to process that Uruha was talking about the lube and condoms. He managed to find them in the chest of drawers next to the bed, and slicked his finger quickly, bringing it to Uruha’s entrance and pushing in.

He didn’t know what made his blood boil hotter – how deliciously tight the other man felt, or the long, low noise of pleasure he let out at the penetration. “That feels good?” he said, his voice low and seductive as he moved the finger in and out.

“Yes,” Uruha nearly purred. “Oh, yes . . .”

The second finger entered, and now Kai was almost moaning in anticipation. He couldn’t let himself get impatient, though, couldn’t let it go too fast. A man his size had to make sure his lover was well prepared, especially for a first experience together.

He wanted this to be nothing but pure pleasure for Uruha.

By the time he slid in a third finger and started gently stretching him, Uruha was bucking against him, wanting, needing to be filled, fucked, plundered by this man. “Please,” he moaned. “Please, Kai . . .”

Oh, the sound of that begging was luscious. “Please what?” he said, teasingly, pushing those fingers in a bit further, being rewarded with a moan.

“Fuck me . . . let me ride you. . .”

Oh, that did it. Thank God he felt loosened up enough, because Kai couldn’t wait a moment more. He slid the fingers out, wiped them on a tissue, and couldn’t roll the condom on fast enough. Once he had it slicked, he lay on his back, holding his arms out to Uruha.

“Come on, then,” he said.

Uruha straddled him, settling himself into place, comfortably, and then pushed down, very slowly, taking Kai into him little by little. “Ohh, yes,” he moaned. “So big, so hard . . .”

Kai looked up, and saw this beauty impaling himself on him, bit by bit, and felt the tight heat enveloping him, and he thought he’d never been so happy in all his life.

Uruha paused when he’d taken all of Kai that he could, a look on his face like he was lost in bliss, like the rest of the world was hundreds, thousands of miles away.

“Ohh, you feel so good,” he murmured. “So damn good, Kai, you fill me so completely . . .”

He began to move, sliding up and down, and Kai reached out, his hands grasping Uruha’s perfect thighs, running up and down them, squeezing them. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen, Uruha . . .”

Uruha began to move faster, and Kai pushed up against him with every thrust, feeling his cock plunge into delicious tight heat over and over, watching the man above him as he planted his hands on Kai’s chest, head thrown back, golden hair spilling everywhere.

He moaned in harmony with Uruha as the model started a steady thrust, taking as much of the huge cock as he craved, and Kai reached up, stroking his nipples, playing with them, making Uruha sweat and writhe, making him more gorgeous by the second.

“Kai,” Uruha moaned. “Close, baby, so close . . .”

Kai’s hand slid down Uruha’s body and grasped his cock, sliding over it, fingers heading right for the magic spot under the head, and almost as soon as he touched it, Uruha arched upward, letting out a loud cry, his sheath tightening around him. Kai felt the pleasure explode, ecstasy flooding his body as he cried Uruha’s name out, the orgasm going on and on and on . . .

He felt Uruha collapse on top of him, the other man’s lips press to his. He felt drained, spent. He felt like this dumpty little apartment in this weird, nondescript building was the coziest home in the world.

Uruha nuzzled him. “How did you know?” he murmured.

“Know what?” Kai murmured in a sleepy daze, pulling Uruha toward him, not wanting to let him go, ever.

“That the door was there, and it would open.”

Kai kissed his forehead. “Curiosity,” he said. “And, as it turned out? Lucky timing.”

He looked over. The door was open, still. And it would remain so. There would never be a need for that keyhole again.

With the coming of dawn, several heated bouts of lovemaking later, Uruha knew exactly what his decision would be, what his future was.

So, for that matter, did Kai.

* * *

Kai moved out on the 20th of October, when the maple trees outside were showing their first blushes of the red momiji of fall, bringing some cheeriness to the still-dumpy exterior of the housing unit.

They’d wanted to stay near their friends, of course, but the new place was closer to the restaurant where Kai was assistant chef, not to mention the sommelier training academy that Uruha was attending. Besides, this new apartment was big enough for the two of them to move around in.

Kai knew he’d pretty much be supporting both of them for a while, at least until Uruha graduated, even though his lover still took modeling jobs here and there when his schedule allowed. That was okay. They’d make it work.

Aoi saw them off, collected their keys, told Kai that he’d finance his first restaurant when his film career was well-established. Kai and Uruha just exchanged knowing glances.

Eventually, Kai would get his own restaurant after a few gigs as assistant chef, then chef, at increasingly bigger and more prestigious places. It was financed not by Aoi, but by a crowdsourcing project. Aoi hung out there anyway, along with other hipster actors and directors working in independent film – still not quite able to dump his apartment building, but reassuring everyone all the time he was getting closer to his goal.

The front lobby of the restaurant sported a pair of tricked-out motorcycles – Reita’s best creations yet – and the walls of the dining area featured some of Ruki’s less nightmarish works. One of his paintings happened to catch the eye of a gallery owner, getting their artist friend a couple of shows – a small gallery, but a gallery nonetheless.

And the hip, young crowd who came to the restaurant always remarked that one of the most extraordinary things about it was the sommelier, who not only recommended impeccable wine-food pairings, but also acted as the restaurant’s host and public spokesman, gliding between the tables with beauty and grace – seeming, the patrons always said, like a living work of art.

Oh, the name of the restaurant, you ask?

Keyhole. 


End file.
